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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27855686">A Safe Pair of Hands</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/akouos/pseuds/akouos'>akouos</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bad French, Couch Cuddles, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:48:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,246</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27855686</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/akouos/pseuds/akouos</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate reads the Detective to sleep.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell, Female Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Safe Pair of Hands</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>2am is always a good time to finish months old WIPs.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Naomi pauses in the doorway. A warm light had cut a swathe across the darkened hallway. One that was too tempting to ignore.</p><p>Sleep hadn’t come to her tonight. She’d crawled into bed some time before eleven but by the time she had finally given up her tossing and turning the neon numbers of her alarm clock read a terribly late number past midnight. </p><p>The cool wood of the warehouse floors had made her shiver, her arms attempting to ward off the cold as she set off down the halls in a t-shirt and sleep shorts without a thought to her destination. </p><p>Nate had heard her coming, sticking a finger between the pages of his book and turning his full attention to her before she’d even slipped into the library. It’s bathed in the glow of a lone lamp with a green stained glass shade. Naomi is struck by the handsome lines of his face 

— his kind brown eyes, the stubble on his jaw, the little curls of escaped hair that frame his face.</p><p>She loves him like this, relaxed and easy, draped on the leather sofa in his favorite place. Just the sight of him makes the anxiety curling in her muscles alleviate. Just an inch but enough that she has become addicted to what the warmth of his presence does to her. Nate wears just a pair of soft pajama pants and a simple grey t-shirt. All it makes her want is to curl into his lap. </p><p>Her destination tonight had been more planned than she had originally thought.</p><p>“Unable to sleep?” he asks and there’s that worried look again that she’s not terribly fond of. </p><p>Naomi waves a dismissive hand and shrugs, shuffling over to him. He sits up and sets his feet on the floor, making room for her on the plush couch. Nate rubs a hand over his sleepy face as she settles and her heart does a little tug towards him.</p><p>“What are you reading?” Naomi hums, tucking her feet underneath her. She holds her hand out and he chuckles softly, relaxing into his new position when she settles. His hand finds a home on her knee, thumb rubbing against her bare skin. It is as natural as breathing to him but it sparks something humming and frantic in her ribcage.</p><p>She accepts the book, careful to slip her finger to replace his own so she doesn’t lose his page.</p><p>Naomi turns the book in her hands. She had to give it to Nate — his  collection was breathtaking. It was so pristine and well-loved Naomi felt almost criminal for borrowing them. Even as much as Nate insisted.</p><p>One day, she had left with a stack of first editions that was almost painful to put in her shitty car 

—

 right over the coffee stain in the bucket of the passenger seat. This book has a textured, dark leather binding, an intricate scene of an unrecognizable ancient city emblazoned on the cover with swirling gold script.</p><p>“<i>Le Lie-ver de la Cite des Dame</i>,” Naomi struggles through and just by the slight wince on Nate’s face she knows her pronunciation had been a butchering. He wipes it away quickly and chuckles, his thumb still rubbing soothingly at her knee. </p><p>“<i>Le Livre de la Cité des Dames</i>,” Nate corrects kindly, his tongue rolling perfectly over the words. Language to Nate is an art form. Just watching his lips produce the words makes her flush a little. </p><p>Naomi rolls her eyes and hands the book back to him, “Show off.”</p><p>The two of them melt into easy laughter that makes her heavy ribs feel light. Nate’s hand gives her knee a squeeze.</p><p>Naomi rests her arm on the back of the couch, leaning her head against her fist. </p><p>“Tell me about it,” Naomi prods, gazing at him, watching delight spark in his eyes.</p><p>“The Book of the City of Ladies,” he explains with the sweetest smile like he’s telling a secret. “Finished in 1405-”</p><p>“Ah, so not only French but Medieval French. Got it,” Naomi teases dryly. He gives her a little bemused quirk of his lips before continuing. </p><p>“It was written in defense of education for women and of their value to society. It talks about women of note 

—

the Virgin Mary, Sappho, Dido..,” he continues. Naomi raises her eyebrows in interest. Her own repertoire of finished books suddenly pales in comparison.</p><p>“Well, if you came for help falling asleep I could bore you all night,” Nate jokes with a little huff of an apologetic laugh. </p><p>Naomi sits up and rubs his shoulder, an action that still makes her heart shudder because <i>fuck </i>it’s so easy. So simple.</p><p>“No, no-” Naomi shakes her head. “It sounds incredible. I suddenly wish I could read French.”</p><p>“I could teach you,” Nate offers, placing his hand over hers. He bundles her hand tightly up in his and brings her finger tips to his soft lips. </p><p>“Tempting,” Naomi smirks, holding back the urge to make him blush 

— and no doubt purr back a tease that she wouldn’t be able to get off her mind for days. “Why don’t you read it to me now?”</p><p>Nate cocks his head a little in confusion. Naomi is already busy pulling his legs back up onto the couch. </p><p>“Read it to me,” she urges, shifting to wiggle between his body and the back of the couch. Any protest or confusion has died in the time it takes for her to settle against him, his arm looping instinctively around her. She presses her cheek to his chest, against the dull <i>thumping </i>of his heart. Naomi hopes he is smiling. There was nothing better than knowing she made him smile.</p><p>The book’s spine crackles when it opens and she is overwhelmed by the smell of old parchment. She scans the words 

—

 Naomi wouldn’t be surprised if it was a special edition. Nate loved those. A thought tucked into the back of her mind for a day when she suddenly had enough money to buy him every first edition she could get her hands on.</p><p>Nate started to read as if he knew them by heart. He kisses her hair, squeezes her tight and relaxes into the cushions. His voice embraces her, holds her as tenderly as he does. It was nonsense to her but the sound of his baritone and the slight vibrato underneath her ear was soothing nonetheless. Maybe she would let him teach her French. Maybe she’d get to use it some day.</p><p>Maybe Nate would take her to Paris and he would insist on kissing her at the height of the Eiffel Tower because that seemed like something he would do. They would visit the Louvre and Nate would explain all of the pieces to her, talking in that same soothing voice. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, tucking her into his chest so again she could hear the lovely thrill of his voice against her ear.</p><p>Pages flip by. One after the other. Naomi’s eyes begin to grow heavy and her body doesn’t fight it. No pounding heart, no restless mind. Just the comfort of him against her and his tongue dancing over words she wished to understand. At some point, Nate tugs the soft blanket draped over the couch nd covers the two of them. She hums happily when he does. </p><p>That and his voice is the last thing she remembers before drifting off to an easy, dreamless sleep.</p>
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